


You’re A Vampire, Baby

by bacchanalia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Haunted Ring, Horror Elements, M/M, Vampire!Shiro, Vampires, but it isn’t a focal point, side Hunk/Lance, that wasn’t a tag but it is now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 05:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacchanalia/pseuds/bacchanalia
Summary: Keith finds himself goaded into buying an allegedly haunted ring off EBay that is said to house the spirit of a vampire. Of course, Keith knows this is bullshit. He’s only buying the stupid thing to get Lance off his back. There’s no way a ritual that involves wine and blood will actually end up with the hottest man he’s ever seen standing before him with fangs and glowing eyes.Right?





	You’re A Vampire, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to another new fic I started, instead of finishing up my wips. But I love Vampires, and it’s in the spirit of Halloween. So let’s get spooky, shall we?

There's a crack in the mirror

And a bloodstain on the bed

Oh, you were a vampire

And baby, I'm the walking dead

“Bloodletting (The Vampire Song)” -Concrete Blonde 

 

“Keith, c’mon, don’t be a coward.” Lance says with his mouth around so much top-ramen that it should be impossible to breathe, let alone speak. He slurps the excess noodles up in the process and splatters broth on his face, and the upholstery of Keith’s shitty thrift couch from the seventies. Oranges and browns, enough said. 

“If I’m a coward, then you’re an idiot.” Keith doesn’t bother to look up at Lance, he’s playing an emulator of Galaga on his phone which has much more to offer than the conversation he wants no part of. 

“At least I’m an idiot who gets laid. Which is more than I can say for you.” Keith shoots him a glare. “Which brings us back to…” Lance trails off, only for a moment, long enough to airdrop a picture of a simple gothic-looking ring with a black band and black jewel in the center. It pops up on Keith’s phone screen, the interruption causes his spaceship to blow up. “This bad boy.” 

Keith presses ‘cancel’ on the intrusive picture and sends it back into the void where it belongs. “ _ Why  _ are you so obsessed with some ring? If I wanted to hook up with someone, it wouldn’t be through jewelry bonding.” 

“It isn’t  _ some ring _ , Keith! It’s haunted! Didn’t you read the listing? Geez.”

Hunk chooses that exact moment to walk in with a platter of fresh-baked muffins. From the scent, Keith thinks they’re pumpkin. “Woah, we’re talking about rings? Haunted rings? Why?” Hunk cuts Lance a look. “Why’re we talking about that?”

Lance, fucking serves him right, flushes. “Not those kinda rings! This dude on Ebay is selling one.” He pitches his voice to, Keith assumes, fit the telling of a scary story, and wiggles his fingers. “And trapped within the ring is an ancient sexy vampire who can fuck the grumpiness out of anyone, even guys named Keith with the worst mullet you’ve ever seen.” 

“Hunk,” says aforementioned Keith with aforementioned mullet, “tell your boyfriend he can fuck off.” 

Considering passing along the message for all of two seconds, Hunk pauses before he speaks. “Lance, if you ever propose to me, do it with a normal ring, okay? I can’t hang with ghosts.” 

“First of all,” Lance begins, “you’re the one who has to propose to me. Since I’m the one who asked you out.” 

“Is that how that works?” Hunk suddenly looks nervous. 

“‘Course that’s how it works. Trust me.” 

Keith starts up another round of Galaga, the eight-bit notes pinging from his phone speakers, trying their best to drown out the conversation. Keith doesn’t want to talk about marriage proposals, and he  _ definitely  _ doesn’t want to talk about vampires trapped inside some dollar-tree Halloween ring. 

But Lance gets too caught up in the season, Keith guesses. It’s the beginning of October, and Keith doesn’t have to worry about feeling any excitement for Halloween, or otherwise (being his upcoming birthday), since Lance takes care of that in spades. Secretly—or, maybe not so secret, but just out of Lance’s earshot, Keith loves Halloween, he always has. For some reason, the occult has always fascinated him, made him curious of whatever went bump in the night. When he was a kid, he used to play ghost hunter and walk cemeteries at every ungodly hour imaginable. After all, when you hardly had anyone looking after you, bedtimes weren’t an issue. 

“Keith!” Lance’s voice is loud and abrupt. It startles Keith and causes his fingers to jolt. He drops his phone to the sound of his ship being detonated once more, and a frustrated growl leaves his lips. 

“Oh my god, Lance,  _ what? _ ” He gives Lance his full attention now, brow raised and waiting for the guy who barely passes as a friend to say something worthwhile. Of course, that won’t be the case. 

Keith’s phone pings from his lap in lieu of a response from the man smirking next to him. 

It’s an airdrop of that fucking ring again. 

“C’mon,” Lance says with this weird waggle in his voice. Taunting, almost. Keith feels irritation prickling in his face. “It’ll match your mullet.” 

“That’s two hair jokes in like ten minutes. You’re running out of what little originality you had.” 

“You don’t even think it looks cool?  _ C’mon! _ ” 

Keith rakes a hand through his hair and considers ripping it out by the roots in frustration. But with a huff of annoyance he accepts the airdrop and takes a good look at the ring. It isn’t that he thinks it looks  _ uncool _ , just that it’s exactly what you’d picture from this sort of scam. Some dickbag buys a hundred of these in bulk for two bucks a piece, then sells them on EBay to dumbasses willing to shell out fifty bucks for a fantasy. It didn’t matter what the thing looked like, it was stupid. And there was no way in hell Keith was going to waste his money on anything within ten feet of this listing. 

* * *

 

The ring comes in the mail faster than anticipated, four days later. 

Not only are Hunk and Lance there when it shows up, but so is Pidge, a friend he’s had since middle school. What does that make it? Almost ten years now? Damn, time flies. 

“I cannot believe you spent money on this,” she says as Keith takes the small bubble mailer in his hand. The envelope is unassuming, with plain brown paper covering the surface, but the return address and Keith’s own are scrawled delicately in nice handwriting. 

“It was either buy the stupid ring, or listen to Lance talk about the stupid ring for the next million years.”

“I still don’t understand why he didn’t just buy it.” 

Lance pops up in defense of himself, looking over Keith’s shoulder at the envelope. “Because  _ I _ , unlike Keith, have dick downs on the reg. I don’t need a haunted escort.” 

Keith fights the urge to ram his head backwards into Lance’s nose, while Pidge mimes barfing at the fact that Lance used the term ‘dick down’ seriously. “Well,” Keith says, tearing open the envelope. “When I put this ring on and a hot nothing happens, I’ll try to still commend you for your concern.” 

With the envelope open, and the small amount of bubble wrap inside torn off, the ring slides out and into Keith’s palm. Much to his expectations, there is no explosion of glittering red smoke and maniacal vampire laughter. There isn’t even any shift in the room’s air. As he assumed, nothing happens. 

Keith looks up at Lance. “Wow, I really feel it.” 

Lance frowns. “Gimme that. Maybe there’s some instructions.” He snatches the envelope. 

“Instructions,” Pidge repeats, deadpan. “For a ring.” 

“You never know, Pidge! The listing said there was a ritual to complete.” He tore the rest of the brown paper, filleting it unceremoniously. Once ripped open, a small folded piece of red paper fell out. “Aha! See? What did I tell you?” Keith would pay the amount of ten rings to have Lance never use his smug ‘told you I was right’ voice again. But he watches as Lance unfolds the note carefully and purses his lips when the man starts reading out loud. 

“Super Sexy Vampire Haunted Ring,” Lance begins. Keith and Pidge groan in unison. Hunk looks like he’s afraid even the paper is haunted as Lance continues. “You are now the proud owner of this ring. But do not misunderstand, you must complete the ritual if you are to be this vampire’s master.” Lance smirks and does that waggling thing again when he says the word ‘master’. “When you receive the ring, follow these steps exactly for the ritual to be successful,” he pauses. “Are you listening, Keith? 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Sweet. Here we go. Number one! Place the ring inside of a glass of a red wine. Then, prick your finger and infuse the wine with ten drops of blood. When you are finished, place the cup on the right side of your bed and sleep with it there. Number two! In the morning, take the cup and pour the wine mixture onto the ground in front of your house—” 

Hunk interrupts with a whine. “What? Like outside on the porch? Wine stains, Lance.” 

“Oh sorry, Hunk. I missed the footnote that says you don’t have to listen to the rules.” 

Pidge snatches the paper from Lance and adjusts her glasses. “You also missed literally the next sentence where it says “be sure to pour the wine into soil.” 

“Hunk didn’t let me get to that part!” 

“So it’s  _ not  _ going on the porch.” 

“Will you let me finish?!” Lance grabs the paper back, huffs once and straightens his posture before he resumes. “As I was saying, pour the wine mixture onto the ground in front of your house—” he eyes Pidge and Hunk deliberately, “making sure that it seeps into the earth. Pour the ring out with it as well. Number three. Wear the ring on whichever finger you’d like, or on a cord around your neck. When you go to sleep that night, the vampire will make himself known to you, and the contract will be consummated with blood. In order to keep your bond, you must reenact the ritual once a month.” 

Lance sets the instructions down on the coffee table and shrugs. “Alright, seems easy enough. You got any wine glasses?” 

“No—” 

“Uh, of course,” Hunk answers at the same time. Leave it to Hunk to have any dish that may become necessary or fitting at one point or another. 

Keith yawns and wipes a hand over his face. “Okay, so if I do this, when it doesn’t work, we never bring it up again, got it? No second tries or anything, unless you wanna do it yourself.” 

“Fine by me, Vamp Master.” 

“I honestly hate you.” 

“Love you too, Keithy.” 

Pidge holds her arm out in front of Keith to hold him back from the open palm Lance was seconds away from getting. “Okay, okay. I think that’s enough. Keith agrees to do the ring voodoo, and Lance agrees to  _ never _ say the word ‘Keithy’ again. Deal?” 

Lance and Keith shake on it. “Deal.” 

 

They spend the rest of the day playing video games together and watching horror movies when evening rolls around. This being Keith’s only day off this week from the record store he works in, he’s glad to have the lighthearted time together, even if he’s more reserved on announcing it than his friends. And as corn-syrup blood splatters across the screen in the current slasher movie they’re watching, Keith almost forgets about the ring sitting on the coffee table, gleaming at him as the light bounces off its many faucets. 

When Pidge goes home and Lance pulls Hunk away into his bedroom as if they both live here instead of just Hunk, Keith is left staring at his new accessory. There’s this weird bubble of anxiety turning in his stomach at the prospect of it. Even though he knows this is a load of bullshit, and he knows there’s no such thing as vampires, certainly not ones attached to costume jewelry, it still makes him a little nervous. Using his blood in some ghost-summoning thing? Wasn’t that like, fuck-up numero uno in every horror movie ever? 

It felt like he was walking into the proverbial basement with a flashlight after hearing a loud noise in the middle of the night. 

Either that, or the sugar-rush from eating too many sour straws was mixing bad with the movies they’d just watched. 

He picks up the ring, turns it a bit in his hand before closing his fingers around it, and heads into the kitchen. Whatever uncertainty he felt surrounding this, it would all be over after tonight. Or, well Keith guesses after the next night, when he’ll undoubtedly fall asleep and nothing happens. 

Keith grabs a wine glass from the cupboard and uncorks a bottle from the quaint, mini wine-rack that Hunk bought to sit on the counter. It makes their little house look much more refined than it actually is. He puts the ring inside, then fills it halfway with the wine. Picking up a knife from the utensil drawer, Keith wastes no time in pricking his finger, though he clicks his tongue at the pinpoint of pain. Blood dribbles from the wound and into the glass, causing small ripples throughout the liquid, but nothing else. The blood and wine blend perfectly together. Keith picks it up with his uninjured hand, and frowns while sucking on his bleeding forefinger. He’s always thought that maybe vampires in folklore weren’t that far off the mark, considering blood doesn’t taste too bad. He wonders if the whole thing started because one guy in Transylvania had a blood kink. “Alright, ghost. Time to go to bed, I guess.” 

Keith falls asleep staring at the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the glass. 

 

He wakes up in the same fashion. For some reason, a part of Keith expected the glass to not be by his bedside, for (apart from all logic in his mind) someone to be beside him in its place. He frowns and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. But the glass is exactly where he left it, looking exactly the same. He can’t see the ring in the wine, but he assumes it’s still there as well. 

With one hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and the other holding the glass, Keith makes his way to the front door and down the porch steps. A part of him, however small, considers dumping it out on the porch and blaming Lance somehow. But he thinks better of this and stops in the grass, still damp from the morning’s dew. 

Keith dumps the contents in one motion with zero regard for ritual aesthetic. In the puddle of red now seeping into the dirt, the ring sits atop the grass blades. He picks it up, and slips it onto his thumb, which happens to be the only finger the thing will fit.

Again, nothing happens. 

He rolls his eyes, goes back inside. Halfway through this bullshit and still nada. Somehow, Keith still finds it in himself to be a little disappointed. Not that he bought any of this to begin with, but, seriously—who would pass up sex with a hot vampire? Keith is just a guy, after all. He has needs. 

He may also discreetly be a kinky motherfucker too, who was to say? 

 

The walk to work is uneventful, save for the fact that the sun is still too strong for this time of year, in Keith’s opinion. It isn’t hot, mid sixties, maybe. But Keith still feels parched and a little faint once he’s finally through the doors of Junker Vinyl. The musty smell he’s greeted with is comforting in its own right, but Keith supposes it should be considering he’s worked here for about five years now, since he was fresh out of high school. 

Behind the counter to his immediate left, his manager who seemed to be baked twenty-four seven, Rolo, looks up from the magazine he’s reading. “Keith, my man. Welcome.” 

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” 

“No big. Your face is all red.” 

Keith touches his cheeks and feels how warm they are. “Oh, yeah. I walked here. The sun’s not holding back.” 

Rolo frowned. “It’s like, sixty out there.” 

“Yeah, tell it to my vascular system, I guess. You clocking out?” 

Rolo yawns, mouth stretching wide, and cracks his back. “Yeah. It’s been dead as hell. I kept dozing off. Hey, I was gonna ask you something, what was it…” 

It’s dead as hell, Keith thinks, because for some reason we’re constantly open. “Think we could close one of these nights. If there’s no customers—” 

“That’s what I was gonna say! Can you take over for me tonight too? There’s some shit going on right now.” 

Keith deadpans. “Take over? As in, work graveyard on top of my shift right now?” 

Rolo’s smile is sheepish, as if he realizes how ridiculous his question is. “Nyma left me. Said I got till tomorrow morning to get my shit out.” 

He’s staring at Keith, waiting for a response, and Keith feels like shit because as usual he doesn’t know how to deal with people. He’s not good with emotions. What do you say to someone who just got dumped? Keith doesn’t know. Lance and Hunk are his only friends that are dating anyone, and they’ve been sucking each other off since seventh grade. 

“Oh,” is the grand response he thinks of. “I’m, uh, sorry to hear that.” 

Rolo shrugs, blowing out a sigh and clearly trying to cover up the awkward mood with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. I’m a deadbeat, y’know? This shop’s all I got.” 

Keith frowns. He isn’t exactly very far out of the same boat. From the back room, a series of beeps sound, pitched in a way that can only be described as royally peeved. A moment later, the little robot Rolo made named Beezer comes into view, followed by more angry beeps. 

Rolo leans down and pats the machine’s head. “Sorry, buddy. All I got is this shop, and you.” 

The beeping turns pleasant, and on the LED screen that acts as his face, an emote for happiness appears. 

“I guess I can do it.” 

“Holy shit, you mean it? Ah man, Keith, I would owe you so big.” 

“But you gotta let me close for at least two hours. I need to sleep a bit.” 

Rolo snorts. “Yeah, okay. If I looked up ‘insomnia’ in the dictionary, I’d see a picture of Keith Kogane. Unless you get into my indica stash, you won’t be sleeping.” 

It’s annoying how right he is. Keith rolls his eyes. “Whatever. But I’m taking a long lunch whether you like it or not. And I want time and a half.” 

“You’re running me outta business, kid.” 

“It’s either that or we close for the night.” 

“Time and a half it is!” Rolo slaps Keith a bit too hard on the shoulder as he passes him. “Oh, I took a ten outta the register earlier, forgot my wallet. So it’s gonna be under. Anyways, I’ll leave the fort to you.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, because there’s honestly nothing else he can say to the man at this point. “Sure. I’ll be here.” 

And he is there. For hours. More than should be legal-- more than Keith thinks actually  _ is  _ legal. Typically, when there’s customers in the store, Keith is kept relatively busy. He dusts the tops of all the vinyls and sneezes at least five times in the process. He helps people choose which records are worth their salt and which aren’t, which are strictly for the clout of having them in their collection, and which they might as well buy two of (one for the shelves and one to play). He rolls his eyes when people ask him things like “Have you heard of the album ‘Nevermind’?” and “Is this an original?” when the sticker is clearly printed with ‘first edition’. 

But not today. 

Today it feels like there’s a repellant on the shop’s door that’s stopping anyone and anyone’s anyone from coming in. Keith’s actually taken to watching dust motes dance in the sunlight of the passing afternoon, and doodling on message pads, hoping the phone will ring when it doesn’t. As if his body were personally trying to spite Rolo’s jab from earlier, Keith feels like he’s seconds away from knocking out. 

When a customer finally does come in, it’s twilight and the opening of the glass door brings a chill inside with it. The man who enters catches Keith off guard in both the best and worst ways possible. He’s tall, with shoulders so broad Keith wonders how the hell he fit through the door, and a buzzed undercut hairstyle with his assumed natural dark color giving way to a forelock of white. Keith’s jaw falls open when the stranger turns towards him. 

Jesus fucking christ, he’s beautiful. 

“H-hi--” Keith stammers, and immediately chastises himself. He wipes a hand over his face and tries again, clearing his throat. “Hi. Welcome to Junker Vinyl. The name is not indicative of the product.” 

The man smiles, and there’s something off about it. A little too dark, a little too feral. “Is that really the slogan?” His voice is dark too. Fuck. Keith is fucked. 

“I, uh. No. Well, unofficially. I came up with it.” 

“It’s good.” He walks close to the counter, shamelessly placing his palms on its surface and leaning forward. “What’s your name?” 

This is weird. Keith feels this way even though there’s no doubt how attracted he is to whoever the hell this man is. There’s something off about his conduct, something predatory in his gaze. Keith isn’t sure if he’s frightened or thrilled by it. He swallows thickly nonetheless. 

“Keith.” 

“Keith, that’s got a good sound to it.” 

“Um,” Keith starts. “And yours?”

“You want my name?”

There’s the hints of a smirk on the man’s face, as if he’s amused by this. Keith feels like he’s missing a important part of a joke. “Isn’t that how introductions go?” 

“My name carries a bit more weight than that. You’ll have to give me something if you want it, Keith.” 

Keith feels his throat going dry, his entire body is tensing, telling him to run, that whatever this situation entails, it’s nothing short of danger. Still, there’s another part of him, somewhere buried, that feels as if this man is calling out to him with his eyes and the curve of his smirk. “What kind of something?” Did Rolo ever get the cameras fixed in this place? Could he get bent over the counter by this guy right here without getting caught? 

The man smiles again, wider, more grotesque, and his eyes begin to glow gold. For a moment, Keith isn’t sure which feature to focus on. 

Until two very prominent fanged canines grow down before his eyes. 

Keith feels his heart stuttering in his chest. He can’t tell if he’s unimaginably horny or petrified. 

“Do these answer your question?” 

“A little.” Keith’s throat is seizing up. The man leans closer, he reaches over the counter and grips Keith’s chin, tilting it up towards him. 

“Are you scared of me, Keith?” Keith licks his lips, unable to respond. The stranger speaks again. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

Keith doesn’t understand how his brain hasn’t gone into overdrive. Why doesn’t this feel weirder. He’s scared, which is oddly arousing, but that’s a problem for future Keith, whenever he feels like tackling the clusterfuck of his psyche. But he’s not confused, like he should be. If anything, the fact that he’s taking this information in stride is what’s confusing for him. 

How is it possible for a vampire to waltz up to him like it was just a typical afternoon— 

Afternoon. 

The sun hadn’t fully set yet. 

“Wait…” Keith’s words are slurred. He tries to look at the clock and finds he’s unable to do so. The red digital numbers on its face don’t make any sense, they aren’t numbers at all. “How are you out in the sunlight?” 

The stranger freezes, but only for a moment, then his grip is tightening, forcing Keith back into eye contact. “You’re thinking too much, Keith. Look at me. You wanted my name, all you have to do is agree to our contract.” 

Contract. Something’s wrong here. His eyes flit to the sides, and he sees that the rows upon rows of vinyls are gone. In their place is carpet that ripples at the edges, fading away into nothingness. And Beezer-- he hasn’t heard the robot at all since this man entered. 

When he turns his eyes forward once more, the stranger is glitching, his form wavering and stuttering out in front of Keith’s eyes. 

Finally, he chooses one: he’s terrified. 

“What the fuck is going on!?” He pushes away from the man and falls into nothing. His chair is gone, along with the counter. The carpet has turned into black sludge that oozes and takes his hands hostage. 

The man stares down at him, his perfect lips turned into a frown. “I can’t explain it to you now. Your mind won’t stay asleep for me.” Then, he smirks once more, but it’s bitter, without humor. “It would be my luck that you’re this stubborn when I’m the thirstiest I’ve ever been.” He sighs. “Until later, then.” 

Keith wakes up with a jolt that almost sends him hurtling out of his rolling chair. On the glass beneath his cheek is a pool of drool. His heart is hammering in his chest, and Keith quickly takes stock of his body and his surroundings. The vinyls are where they’re supposed to be. The digital clock’s numbers are there. 

Just a dream.

He tries to calm his breathing by taking large gulps, and stares down at the ring adorning his thumb. Of course, he knows there’s no way in hell that the dream he had was anything more than all the built up talk over this ring coming to a head. Nothing else is even remotely logical. A real vampire visiting him in his dreams? Bullshit. Right? Right. 

Man, Keith isn’t a tobacco smoker, but he wants a cigarette.  

Outside, the sun is still in the process of setting, and Keith isn’t quite sure how long he was out for. But there doesn’t seem to be anything visibly missing from the store so he figures no harm no foul. He scrubs his hands over his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as if that would wipe the dream from his memory. Maybe it’s still the lingering jitters of it, but he can’t shake the heavy, eeriness that seems to hang around him. 

Just his imagination. 

Then again, if his imagination is able to conjure up someone as hot as the vampire from his dream, why the fuck has it been holding out on him for this long? It should be illegal. And also, fuck his brain for not letting him get it on with the man before he woke up. Leave it to him to ruin a perfectly good setup for best sex dream of his life. 

The rest of his shift goes off without a hitch. Or, more accurately, goes off just like Keith’s nerves. He’s been jumping over every creak and sigh of the building, every jingle of the door when actual customers do decide to come in and peruse. More surprising than all of that, he ends up making some sales too. 

When it’s finally time to lock up, it’s three in the morning and Keith  can physically feel the dark circles forming under his eyes. Technically, he was supposed to stay until five, then the shop would be closed until nine am when Rolo would come in. But, after checking the backroom and ensuring that Rolo had in fact not gotten the cameras fixed yet, he decided what Rolo didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

Before his paycheck was written out, Keith would hit him with his crimes so he wasn’t paid for the extra two hours. See? He’s a real upstanding guy. 

Keith pulls the gate down, leaving the store dark in his wake. He bends down to lock the spot where it connects with the floor and feels his pulse speed up once more. His back is to the street and he feels hyper-aware of that fact. When he stands up to lock the door, Keith feels someone’s presence behind him. 

“Don’t be afraid.” 

He’s afraid. Keith jumps, sending his keys flying upwards until they crash back down onto the pavement. He spins around just as fast, back hard pressed to the shut door behind him. It’s taken five years, but he was finally going to be mugged, or robbed, or whatever else happened to retail workers after hours. 

But the person who spoke steps forward and Keith sees who it is. 

The man—no, the vampire from before. From his dream. 

“Holy. Shit,” is all he manages to get out. 

“There’s nothing ‘holy’ about me, baby.” He takes a step closer, crowding Keith farther against the door. “You kept me waiting.” 

“Wh-who—” Keith swallows, hating the fact that he’s stammering. He sets his jaw and makes defiant eye contact. “Who the hell are you?” 

The stranger clicks his tongue, irritation evident on his face and in the subtle glow of his eyes. He opens his mouth, much like he’d done in his dream, and Keith sees the fangs again. “Let me seal our bond, and I’ll tell you.” 

Regardless of the fact that typically Keith would rather die than let a stranger anywhere near his neck, he cannot help being drawn to the man standing in front of him, wanting to bend and expose his throat. The man’s eyes were swirling with a depth that Keith had never seen before, and he feels compelled to obey, to submit… 

Wait. 

Keith closes his eyes hard to break their shared gaze, and pushes his hands out to shove at the stranger’s chest. “Are you doing that True Blood shit on me!?” 

A pause. “I—the  _ what _ ?” 

Keith continued to speak with his eyes shut. “I’ve seen movies and shows! It’s called glamouring or something, right? Where you get humans to do what you want just by staring at them?” When Keith peeks out at the vampire, he’s being frowned at. 

“You shouldn’t have been able to notice that.” 

“Well, I did. You shouldn’t be able to exist, but, here we are.” 

The vampire reaches up, pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and takes a deep breath before beginning to mutter to himself. “I’m going to tear her throat out when I get the chance. What did I always say? No unnecessary death. But this is insane. Ridiculous. I can’t be expected to--” 

“Uh, what are you talking about?” 

The vampire looks back up, as if he’d almost forgotten Keith was there. If possible, his eyes seem darker, and there’s sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Vampires could sweat? Keith would have never guessed. 

“It’s none of your concern. Look—” he says, grabbing Keith’s wrist with such speed that Keith could not comprehend the movement. “You see this ring? This is what you asked for— _ I’m  _ what you asked for. Quite frankly, you’re testing my patience with not letting me feed.” 

“I bought this stupid ring as a joke! To get my friend off my back! There was no way in hell I thought it was real!” All Keith wants to do was go home, get baked out of his mind, and curl up in bed to forget any of this. Maybe this part of his night is a dream too. Maybe he’s finally just losing it. 

“And now that it is real, you’re afraid? Why do you want to fight me, Keith? I can do so much for you. Make you feel so much.” The vampire grips his chin next and tilts his face up. Keith feels the previous sensation flowing through him, the desire to please, to obey. But he fights it, he has to fight it. 

“Why don’t you just go drink from someone else, huh?” 

The stranger frowns, obviously not happy that his sexy eye magic is ineffective once more. He sighs, and lets go. His jaw is clenched. “I can’t.” 

This time, it’s Keith’s turn to frown. “Why? There’s plenty of people around here. Animals. Blood in general isn’t really scarce.” 

“Whose blood was in the chalice?” 

“The what?”

“The chal—the  _ cup _ . You needed a cup for my ritual, right? Whose  blood did you use?” 

Keith feels his throat drying up. “Mine.” 

“There’s your answer. I can only drink from the blood that released me from that.” He points to the ring on Keith’s thumb. 

“Oh,” is the only answer he can get out. 

“Oh.” The vampire echoes. “So, now that that’s out of the way and we’re off to a great start, are you going to let me eat?” 

Keith mulls his options, limited as they may be, over. With how quickly Shiro was able to grab his wrist, there’s no doubt in his speed, so running was out of the question. And with all the lore he’s heard about vampires throughout the years, strength was certainly to follow suit. So, why is this man even asking? A vampire with manners? Maybe the sexified movies weren’t that far off the mark after all. But, instead of voicing this, Keith purses his lips. “What do I get out of it?”

“Your life isn’t good enough, I take it.” 

Keith feels his stomach drop. “If my blood is all you can drink, then killing me won’t really work out for you, will it?” 

The vampire frowns, but does not answer. 

Smug, Keith finds it in himself to smirk. “That’s what I thought. Anyways,” he says as he bends down to grab his keys that’d fallen to the ground earlier. Finally, he finishes locking up the shop. “I gotta get home. So you can just, I dunno, get back in the ring?”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not going to be your blood bank. Even if you are literally the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

“The hottest, huh?” 

Keith walks past him, nerves on fire, but the vampire makes no motion to stop him. Instead, he falls into step beside Keith. “The hottest.” 

“Feeding doesn’t hurt. Nothing past the initial skin break. You’d like it. Most humans do.” 

“No thanks.” Keith’s being cocky. He knows this. Knows he’s treading on thin ice in the face of such danger, but he’ll be damned if he cowtails just because he’s outmatched. In an instant, the vampire is in front of him once more, fangs glistening in the moonlight and what looked like a snarl on his lips. 

“Keith, listen to me,” he starts, taking a step closer only to inhale visibly and groan. Could he smell Keith’s blood? He didn’t know. “I can’t… I won’t be able to get a hold of myself if I go any longer. You’ll be in danger.” 

“We already established that killing me would only fuck you over--” 

“Fuck what’s been established!” For the first time, the vampire raised his voice, and Keith felt true fear icing his veins. It was like the man was struggling with an internal force, gritting his teeth and massaging his forehead. “How much do you know about vampires?” 

“I, uh… I’ve seen movies.” 

“Great. So, nothing.” He sighs, but it’s pained. “Vampires are disconnected from our humanity as it is. It isn’t gone, but it’s… difficult to access at times. Hunger worsens that. But it goes beyond that. The longer a vampire goes without feeding, the more we revert to our… primal instincts. So, what I’m telling you is, I don’t think I can contain myself for much longer. And if I lose control? I’ll kill you.” 

“Awesome,” Keith says after a long pause. He runs a hand through his hair and glances around. Not a soul in sight. They were completely alone. He looks back up. “So if I feed you, then what?” 

“Then our contract is solidified.” 

“And I’ll be your master?”

Reluctance. “...Yes.” 

Keith takes a deep breath before nodding to himself and blowing out a sigh. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“ _ Okay _ ,” Keith says, and tilts his head in a way that exposes the side of his neck. “Bite me.” 

The vampire has him pressed against the wall of a building as fast as he grabbed Keith’s wrist, a hiss on his lips. He threads fingers through Keith’s hair—shockingly gentle—and forces Keith’s head back farther. 

There is only a ghost of lips against his jugular before Keith feels twin points sinking into his throat. Instinctively, his hands fly up, but he doesn’t push the man away. One hand grabs his shoulder and the other moves up to drag his nails over the buzzed portion of the vampire’s head. His lips fall open, and a breathy sound escapes him. 

It feels good. 

“Mm…” The vampire hums against his neck, beckoning Keith’s pulse to pump harder, faster. There’s a haze of lightheadedness swirling in his mind and limbs, but Keith doesn’t think it’s from the blood loss, yet. It’s almost like its own high. 

And before he knows it, it’s over. 

Keith is panting against the wall as the vampire pulls back from him, and much to his surprise, his neck does not continue to bleed. “Is that…” He’s attempting to catch his breath. “Is that it? Are you finished?” 

“I have enough to keep my head.” 

If Keith didn’t know better, he’d say the vampire sounded… guilty. 

“You were right,” Keith says instead of asking if his assumption is correct. “I did like it.” The vampire does not make eye contact with him. Keith continues. “And this… means I get your name now, right?” 

“Takashi Shirogane,” he begins, looking back to Keith. The glow in his eyes is gone, as are his fangs.  “Call me Shiro.” 

Somehow, the vampire—Shiro—looks softer.

“Shiro,” Keith says as affirmation, and his lips tilt up, teasing. “You strong armed me into giving you my blood, and now you look like the cat that ate the canary. Kinda puts off your intimidating bad boy vampire look, don’t you think?”

Shiro looks away from him once more, and frowns. It’s an expression that Keith is beginning to assume he wears a lot. “You should get home, it’s late.” 

Keith doesn’t get a chance to respond. 

Shiro disappears from sight, puff of black smoke and all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @spookysheith for updates on writing and commission/other info!


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